December 22, 2013 | 8:00 a.m.

Stretched

Judith L. Watt
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 80:1–7, 17–19
Isaiah 7:10–16
Matthew 1:18–24

Joseph wakes up. This means more than he arises from physical sleep. It means he now perceives the divine dimension of what is happening. Mary’s condition is not scandal but Spirit, and so he takes her into his home. He embraces the truth of what is occurring and unites himself to it.

John Shea
Matthew: On Earth as It Is in Heaven

When I was very young, our family would occasionally spend some days at a cottage in northeastern Indiana. During one of those stays, we were with my aunt and uncle and their two boys. It was my brother, ten years older than I, and my cousin and his brother. The older one was exactly my brother’s age. That summer, they were full-blown teenagers. One evening, after dinner, the two of them asked to take the motorboat out on the lake, and my dad and uncle agreed and told them to be back before dark. Dark came and they weren’t back. Nine o’clock came and they weren’t back. Finally, about ten o’clock that night, the faint sound of a motor became, audible and my brother and my cousin navigated the small boat up to the pier. As you might imagine, there was quite a welcome party waiting for them.

My mother and my aunt were relieved but upset, and my dad and my uncle were, to say the least, displeased.

The two boys made their way to the screened porch of the cottage, and my uncle and my dad were there to tell them in no uncertain terms about the worry they had caused—and to inform them that they were definitely “in trouble.” But then the differences between the two fathers became apparent. My uncle instructed my fifteen-year-old cousin to get down on his hands and knees. My uncle removed his belt and used it on my cousin, or at least threatened to do so. My dad made no request that my brother get on his hands and knees. And my dad did not use his belt. There was no public humiliation for my brother.

I love this story. It makes me to admire my father. But it’s also a story from my own life that has made Joseph become more real for me.

When Joseph was told of Mary’s pregnancy, it would have been most common for him to take her to court. He was engaged to her. Their engagement was a legal arrangement with legal obligations as firm as marriage. Once an engaged man found out that his fiancé was pregnant and if he wasn’t the father, not only would he take her to court to be divorced and to be paid a monetary sum, but there would likely have been a stoning. The court action and judgment against the woman and the public stoning, the public humiliation, would have been seen as recompense for the shame Joseph had suffered. It was a way for the man to win back his honor, because his betrothed ostensibly had shamed him. Honor and pride and position and control were important then. They are pretty important still, aren’t they? I suspect that my uncle had been after regaining his honor and restoring his pride when he asked his son to get down on the floor on his hands and knees, while he took off his belt. Joseph’s act was an act of resistance. He made a decision to resist societal norms and to preserve as much of Mary’s reputation as possible. He resisted shaming her publicly, even though shaming her is what society expected.

John Shea, who has written a commentary on Matthew, writes,

In the Christian tradition, Joseph is a carpenter. In spiritual teaching, [we could say] carpentry is the way we pull together the pieces of life, fashioning a home for our truth. Joseph the carpenter is at work here, trying to build a response of love in a world of law. This man [Joseph] is an appropriate legal father for the child [Jesus] who will grow up and say the law should be fulfilled and with almost the same breath, say, “Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” The paradox is established: to fulfill the law you have to go beyond it. (John Shea, Matthew: On Earth as It Is in Heaven, p. 44)

To build a response of love in a world of law, to fulfill the law you have to go beyond it.

Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly.

I would imagine his decision would have caused him some trouble with his guy friends. I would imagine they would think him to be weak, chicken, a pushover, and that some would have goaded him on to stone her for God’s sake. “Look what she did to you!”

Joseph’s action in dismissing her quietly is just part of the story. There was more God had in mind for him. God called him to something even more unconventional, to what could have seemed impossible. “An angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, ‘Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.’” I wonder what went through Joseph’s head when he woke from that dream. Believe that this child she was carrying was of the Holy Spirit? Let go of his own pride and need to be significant? Let go of the need to regain his honor?

Shea says, “Joseph wakes up. This means more than he arises from physical sleep. It means he now perceives the divine dimension of what is happening” (Matthew: On Earth as It Is in Heaven, p. 43–48). In that dream, Joseph was stretched to embrace a route that most everyone else would have considered unconventional.

In the midst of this season, which seems to revolve around tradition—the decorations, the shopping, the traditional family foods—it’s so good to be reminded that there is nothing conventional about this faith we live by. There is nothing conventional about believing the Son of God was born to a teenaged, poor couple. There is nothing conventional about the intended husband taking on the role of legal father for a baby said to be conceived by the will of the Holy Spirit. There is nothing conventional about following instructions given in a dream. There is nothing conventional about worshiping a God said to be fully human and fully divine all at one time. There is nothing conventional about worshiping a God whose own life ends the victim of humiliation and disgrace, on a cross alongside common criminals. Not one thing in this faith we proclaim, nor one thing in the events we remember and reenact in this season, nor one thing that comes to us by living in the Spirit—none of it is conventional. It’s good to be awakened enough to remember that. We are stretched by this faith, and a great many times the stretching reaches uncomfortable levels—or it should—and the tension of the stretching threatens us back into safety and doing what our peers do and following societal norms. Societal norms can make us look like we are good Christian people. Shea says, “Joseph wakes up. . . . He now perceives the divine dimension of what is happening. Mary’s condition is not scandal but Spirit” (Matthew: On Earth as It Is in Heaven, p. 43–48).

Where might you have been stretched in your faith life, to see beyond tradition and instead to see the life of the Spirit? Where have you been shown that what might look like scandal to the world is really Spirit in God’s eyes? When have you resisted societal norms—not just to be rebellious but because you had a sense that God was calling you to do so, to live in the tension of the paradox that in fulfilling the law you have to go beyond it? You might think of those stories in the upcoming days to Christmas or even beyond—during Christmastide leading up to Epiphany. Think of those stories in your own life and write them down. Maybe even now you are faced with a dilemma that pushes you to build a response of love in a world of law.

A good friend of mine lost her twenty-four-year old son a few years ago to a form of cancer. At the time he was diagnosed, he had just recently moved in with his girlfriend. Eventually, as his condition worsened, my friend and her husband moved their son back to their home, where they could help with their son’s care. But they also opened their doors to his girlfriend, too. For a good many months both their son and his girlfriend shared the same room. Some looked askance at my friend’s decision, but it was fueled by Spirit rather than law. Eventually, he died, at the age of twenty-six. After his death, my friend and her husband continued to be close to their son’s girlfriend. They had all gone through so much together. A few years later, after a fair amount of grief, the girlfriend fell in love again. My friend and her husband were invited to the wedding. They went. I saw pictures posted on Facebook, as they surrounded their son’s former girlfriend on her wedding day. I stared at the looks in both of their eyes. It was the same kind of look you sometimes see in paintings of Jesus: joy and sorrow all mingled up together. I admired my friend and her husband for the way they let themselves be stretched during that time, beyond societal norms. They saw that what some would view as scandal, was instead Spirit. I admired them, just as I admire Joseph in this story, just as I admire my father’s stance long ago with my brother. Tradition said one thing in all of those instances. Spirit said another.

In a sermon here, a few years ago, John Buchanan said, “Hail Mary. And hail Joseph, too. For they are both full of grace.” That’s really, really true.

How do we live with our hearts and apply God’s teachings, God’s law, in ways that are fueled by love—the love, this unconventional love that comes from knowing that the God who saves has actually come into the world? How do we live according to the words “Do not be afraid?” How is God urging us to be stretched in these days and beyond?

Do not be afraid. The God who saves has come into this world. Some see it as scandal. We are stretched, thankfully, to believe it is Spirit.

Hail Mary. Hail Joseph. They are both full of grace. May it be so with us.